


You Should Be Here

by OctoberSky13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSky13/pseuds/OctoberSky13
Summary: George, consumed by depression, visits Fred's grave one last time.





	You Should Be Here

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. The title and story line come from country artist Cole Swindell's song. (I just wrote the love child between the two... with a slight twist.) Do yourself a favor and listen to the song! You won't regret it! Also, I am not profiting from this writing...

George Weasley watched with an unwavering gaze as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. Threads of light lingered in the sky, mingling with the stars. As the darkness took over, garden lanterns began emanating a soft glow throughout the backyard of the Burrow.

Indistinguishable laughter, chatter, and light music filled the night air. The Weasley’s, Harry, Hermione, the Lovegoods, and a few other choice Gryffindors, whom George hadn’t seen in forever, were seated around one of the larger tables left over from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

George closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Occasions such as these were so rare, he found himself clearing his mind to take in each moment. Listening carefully, he picked up Harry’s story about Teddy, “He’s so smart, and takes after his mother and father for sure.” He smiled, glad the boy had found some peace and closure from the tragedies of war. His thoughts shifted as Hermione announced, “I got an owl today officially naming my promotion to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Beaming, he raised his firewhiskey saluting her achievement. Beside him, Ron and Lee Jordan spoke animatedly about the Chudley Cannons, “Let’s just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best!” George laughed. _Yes_ , he thought, _tonight was a night he would never forget_.

Opening his eyes, George glanced around. He sighed. Everything was perfect; well, except for one thing. Frowning, he stood from the table, quietly excusing himself to the kitchen. Placing his glass on the counter, he chanced one quick glance around to make sure he wasn’t followed and Disapparated.

George arrived on the dimly lit street with a loud crack that echoed through the crisp night air. He crouched, frozen to the spot, listening for evidence that someone had heard his arrival. However, the community of Ottery St Catchpole was fast asleep. After a few seconds pause, George made his way through the streets, his feet carrying him down the all too familiar path.

Finally, he reached the large, black iron gate that had been forged centuries ago. The entrance was nearly ten feet tall, made of twisting black rods that looked like serpents coiling around their prey. George muttered, “Alohomora,” aiming his wand at the tarnished padlock. Creaking, the gate gave way, and George stepped inside.

The overgrown grass and leaves crunched under George’s feet as he made his way through the rows of tombstones. Some were crumbled with their faded etchings weathered by the centuries, others smooth marble with vibrant black writing; a record of people who will never riposte.

“How could a place be so full and empty at the same time?” George whispered into the darkness.

Continuing, George found his end in the farthest corner of the cemetery. Slowly, he walked up to the cold, gray stone and sat down.

In the silence, memories of skiving snack boxes, the portable swamp, and the grand opening of their joke shop came flooding back to him. He smiled, solemnly, tears brimming his eyes. He knew his brother would still be cutting up, cracking butter beers, and toasting each year with him if he could; but, his thoughts did not make his reality any better.

“Tonight has your name written all over it,” George sighed. “Merlin, Fred, you should be here.”

George reminisced, catching his brother up on this year’s events. He laughed, he cried, and found solace with Fred through the night. In the few years since the war, George had never felt at peace with himself, until tonight. And, though the sun started peaking through the trees, he decided he wasn’t ready to leave, not this time. Lying back down by the headstone, George took a small vial from his pocket.

“I just can’t leave you to have all the fun up there,” George muttered, not trusting his voice. “Mischief managed, Freddie, I’ll see you soon.” George relaxed as the potion took effect, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

A soft crack sounded through the cemetery as the last bit of light left George’s eyes.

“I thought I might find you here,” the boy murmured, but there was no answer. “George, did you fall asleep?”

Harry faltered, panic coursing through his body. Though his mind told him to continue, his feet wouldn’t carry him. For a moment, the world stopped. Taking a deep breath, Harry found the strength to walk towards the lifeless body. Stooping down carefully, Harry checked for a pulse. Nothing.

“I understand,” Harry whispered, tears streaming down his face as he closed George’s eyes. “May 2nd is always a difficult day for me too.”


End file.
